Across the Water
by Bluehaven4220
Summary: Maggie Chisholm says goodbye. RIP Brigadier.


**Title: Across the Water**

**Author: Bluehaven4220**

**Summary: Maggie Chisholm says goodbye. **

**A/N: My own farewell to Nicholas Courtney (a.k.a. Brigadier Sir Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart). **

_Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others...for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received._

I couldn't help but smile. Typical of you, Brigadier. To leave that one note for persons unknown, but at the same time, for only one man in particular. Of course, I knew who that man was, although when I looked around, I knew he wasn't there. Not in body, but in his own way. He had a way of doing that, letting you know he was there, if only for a minute.

Somehow it didn't help me feel any better. Still, if it was any consolation, I was a better person for having had you in my life. As I sit here writing this to you, I feel as though I am violating your space. This was you desk, the paper on which I am writing this came from the second drawer on the right side, this pen was yours. It seems as though it were only last week that I saw you writing with it. You were writing to yet another family, having to inform them that their son had met their death with grace and dignity, that they had not known pain. I'd sit there and watch you write each word, signing it with an elegant scrawl; and each time I'd see your shoulders heave, with the weight of yet another man's death on your conscience. No matter how many times you tell yourself that they knew what they had signed on for, it never gets any easier. You never get used to it.

And now, as odd as it may seem, I am now in that same position. I am the one who has to write to the families of the men and women I seem to lose everyday. While it is certainly not in the same capacity, the same principle still applies. Dear God, how I wish you were here.

But then I look around, knowing that without you, none of us would be doing what we are doing today. You, along with a few trained specialists, got the place up and running. You all fought the beasts that an ordinary person would only see in nightmares. There was no one you could confide in, instead having to lean on each other. You, as the head of UNIT, always made sure we were of sound mind and body, constantly testing us, but never too hard. The HQ, as we all took to calling it, was my home for many years. I had a great friend in you, Brigadier, and I shall not forget it. The knowledge and advice you passed on to my family was so important to all of us. Even the children were inspired. Ian once told me he wanted to be like you, never mind that you just happened to be his (and Claire's) godfather. It did not matter that John worked so closely with you, he wanted to be like you, not his dad. John and I both said that was fine, so long as he would be happy. Claire thought to marry a man just like you. Strong, focused, a good listener and leader. And wouldn't you know it, she ended up with a soldier. But would only marry him if she had my, John's, and your approval. If we all gave our blessing, she knew she had made the right decision. You were stern, but fair, and a kind hearted man who doted on Ian and Claire, as a godfather should.

I have nothing but fond memories of you, and those will never fade. Of course, you were not perfect, as no one is perfect, but I cannot say that you were a horrible human being. You were an honourable man who would do whatever he could to protect both his men, and his establishment. I don't believe I ever heard you utter a foul word about anyone, not even the Doctor. You may have lost patience with all of us a few times, perhaps calling us things that do not belong in polite company, I do not blame you. It was, and still is, a stressful job. I have never seen anyone handle such a position with the dignity that you did.

Of course, putting words on paper singing a man's praises is easy to do if you certainly liked the man, and even easier to blow smoke in order to gain their favour. To write the words down and acknowledge that the person is really gone, that is quite another. Even now, as I write this in the wee hours of the morning while John sits beside me, it is one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do. Just today, it was the strangest thing. I looked up from the desk that was once yours expecting to see your shadow looming in the doorway, and that this was all a dream. Sadly, when I pinched myself, I realized that it was not. You are really gone, and it is a truth I am going to have to learn to accept. For now, though, I still maintain that it does not seem real, that it is impossible for you to be gone. You are the glue that holds us all together, and without you, we are truly lost.

I'll tell you one thing though, I can still feel you over my shoulder. Not in a superior "I am your superior officer ergo you must listen to me" way, but as a comfort. Almost as though you know we are suffering, and grieving for you, but letting us know that you have not really left us. What really hurts is that I will never hear you call my name again. 'Miss Chisholm'. That's it. You could never call me by my married name, which you always knew is Benton. No matter where we were, or with whom we were working, I was always 'Miss Chisholm'. I used to get so _angry_ with you for it, insisting that my name was either Maggie, or Mrs. Benton. But you never could do it. I had come to UNIT as 'Miss Chisholm', and 'Miss Chisholm' I would remain. You did the same to John and the children. John was always 'Sergeant' or 'Benton'. Ian was always 'Rooney', and Claire was 'Boots'. I have no idea where 'Rooney' and 'Boots' came from, but what I wouldn't give to hear you say it now.

Of all things, you were a man. Just a human being. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And dust is all that will remain.

There you have it. Sir Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. One of the greatest men I have ever known. And may I say, that it was an honour and a privilege.

I will miss you, Sir.

With love,

Maggie 'Miss Chisholm' Benton.

Sighing, Maggie folded the letter, sealed it, and turned to the open casket. She crossed herself, slipped the envelope in his suit pocket, and gently kissed the weathered, cold cheek.

"Goodbye my old friend."

And she turned back toward the guests who had come to pay their respects, took a deep breath, and forced a smile.

Yes, she was alright. No, there was nothing they could do. They just had to be there, and all would be fine.

She hoped.


End file.
